


Saving Myself

by red_dead_bitch1899



Series: Saving Ourselves [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Hook-Up, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Original Character Death(s), Reader-Insert, Self-Insert, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 06:25:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15455319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_dead_bitch1899/pseuds/red_dead_bitch1899
Summary: Reader has lost a lot in her life. With the apocalypse, she's lost even more. She finds comfort in a fellow Savior, Dwight, which may end up costing her something.





	Saving Myself

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh! My first reader insert. Sorry if it sucks. I tried my best.

When I wake up in the morning, all I can think about is  _ him _ .

I get out of bed and get dressed in a daze. I then leave the room and walk down the hall to the bathroom. I do my business, wash my hands, and then leave. As I’m leaving, I run into somebody. It’s  _ him. _

“Sorry, D,” I mumble, blushing furiously. I refuse to look him in the eyes, but I know for a fact that he’s smirking down at me.

“It’s all good, (Y/N/N),” he replies. I about melt at his voice. Finally, I look up at him. He’s looking at me too. He seems to be looking me over. Is that a good sign or a bad sign? I have no clue.

“You know,” he says, getting closer to me. I back up until my back hits the wall, him still advancing towards me. When he reaches me, he twirls a strand of my hair around his finger. “I had a good time last night, like always, only there was something different about you then. Care to share?” he finishes, seemingly waiting for a reply. My face is hot and pink from embarrassment. I don’t want to talk about last night. I don’t even know what I was thinking, going to him.

Dwight and I have had sex five times in the past two weeks. I honestly think that he’s just trying to get over his wife, Sherry, who “married” Negan. I would be devastated if I were him. He came to me, distressed and needing company, and we kinda just ended up in bed together. The next two times,  _ I  _ was the one who needed  _ him _ . I was feeling low about life and hopeless about my future. He wanted to comfort me and show me how much I matter in this world. The fourth time, we sort of needed each other. Negan had killed a man in front of everyone because he let a small herd of walkers in that killed ten men. The guy didn’t do it on purpose, but Negan didn’t want to listen. 

And then there was last night. I went on a run to an outpost and I found out that a friend of mine, Rhonda, had died. I was feeling depressed. When I got back to the Sanctuary, I went straight to his room. I was debating on whether or not to go to him during the ride back. I felt like I would be bothering him. I also kind of wanted to be alone but I knew that if I were to be alone, I would probably cut again. 

Yeah, cut. I used to self harm all the time, and I find myself doing it sometimes, when I’m feeling especially low. Being around Dwight stops those thoughts and turns them into happier things. Instead of wanting to cut myself, I want to treat myself. Dwight just seems to make everything right.

Anyways, I went to Dwight in seek of comfort and protection from myself. I didn’t go there for sex at all. I wanted him to help me go through  the grieving process. He seemed to have a different method of getting through grief than me. He believed in physical comfort. I went with it because I was too not myself to really make good decisions. After I got back to my own room last night, I realized how wrong my choice was to go to him. If anything, he’s made things a bit worse.

Now, I look at the man in front of me and say, “I lost a friend, Dwight, or do you not remember me telling you?” I push him away from me and start walking back to my room, meaning to keep myself hidden for the rest of the day, skipping meals and everything. I hear him coming after me.

“Hey, hey, hey. Slow down, (Y/N). Let’s talk about this,” he says, grabbing my wrist and turning me around to face him. Suddenly, I’m crying and he has his arms around me. My knees collapse and I fall to the ground, Dwight coming with me. He holds me and tells me sweet, comforting things until I calm down. Once I’m calmed enough, he helps me to my feet and walks me back to my room.

“I’ll tell Negan that you need the day off, okay?” he says when we get to my door. I turn to look at him as I open my door.

“You’d do that?” I ask, grateful that there’s a chance that I’ll get the day to myself.

“Yeah, of course. Anything you need, I’ll try to provide,” he says with a smile. I smile back. I wrap my arms around his neck and place a gentle kiss to his cheek, the cheek that is heavily scarred (Negan’s doing). I pull away and don’t look back up at him.

“I’ll see you later, D,” I mumble. He places his forefinger under my chin and lifts my gaze from his shoes to his eyes.

“I’ll come back and see you in a bit. I’ll bring you something to eat, alright?” he says, eyebrows raised slightly.

“Sure.” He nods, places a kiss to the top of my head, and then walks off down the hall. I go into my room and shut the door. 

I spend the next few hours laying in bed. I cry for a bit and then I fall asleep. I wake up and then cry some more. Around noon, there’s a knock on my door. I ignore it. It comes again, more impatient this time.

“It’s me, (Y/N/N),” Dwight says. When I still don’t answer it, he gives the door a heavy sigh. “I’m not going anywhere until you open this goddamn door and eat your lunch,” he says, clearly exasperated. When I still don’t answer the door, he tries the handle. The door’s not locked so he’s able to come right in. He has a covered plate in his hand. He shuts the door behind him and walks over to my bed. He sets the plate on the side table and takes a  seat on the bed next to me. He places a gentle hand on my thigh. I look up at him, waiting for him to speak.

“I’m sorry about Rhonda, (Y/N), but the only way that I’m going to be able to help you is if you talk to me. That’s the only way,” he finally says. He starts rubbing my thigh gently, comforting me. I start to relax right away.

“She was the one who brought me here. She’s the one who’s been there for me the whole time. She was kind of like a mother to me,” I tell him. I want to cry, but I no longer have any tears to cry. I just stare at him blankly.

“I’m so, so sorry, (Y/N/N). I understand what you’re going through, I do. I’ve been there before. I think we’ve all been there before, or will be there. It’s inevitable.” His hand runs up my thigh to my hip. He starts rubbing gentle circles there. I’m only wearing thin pajama shorts and a tank top (I changed after I can back in here this morning). When his hands starts trying to slip under my shorts, I place a hand over his to cease his movements. He looks into my eyes, wondering what’s going on with me.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m not in the mood.” He nods and removes his hand from me completely. I almost whine at the loss of contact. 

“Here, eat your food,” Dwight says, changing the subject. He picks up the plate but doesn’t hand it to me. He’s waiting for something. I roll my eyes when I understand and sit up. I take the plate when he hands it to me. I take the cover off and there’s a grilled ham sandwich with a radish and an apple. I look over at Dwight. He shrugs.

“We’re running low on certain things. We’re making a stop at one of the other communities for more food,” he explains. I nod. I don’t really agree with taking things from other groups. If they got it and they got it fair and square, then they earned it and deserve to keep it. I think it’s fucked to take half of their shit away. I would never say these things out loud because I’m terrified of Negan and what he’d do to me, what he  _ could  _ do to me.

“When are we going?” I ask, half of my sandwich already gone. He sits and watches me eat.

“You’re not going,” he says bluntly, mouth in a thin line. I frown and stop eating.

“What do you mean I’m not going? I always go on runs with you.” I set the sandwich down on the plate and make no move to eat any of it. Dwight raises his eyebrows at me.

“Eat your goddamn food and maybe I’ll tell you somethin’,” he says, eyes shining with humor. I blush, smile, and start eating my sandwich again.

“Okay, tell me.”

“Negan’s coming and I don’t think that you should come with,” he explains, looking at me with complete sincerity. 

“Why wouldn’t you want me to come just because Negan’s coming?” I’ve finished my sandwich and have moved on to the radish, leaving the apple for last.

“I don’t know exactly what he has planned, but I’m betting it’s something nasty. If I’m right, I don’t want you to be there to see it.”

“Where are you guys going on a run?” I probably know the answer.

“Alexandria,” he says. I nod, my thoughts confirmed.

“Alright, fine. I won’t badger you about it anymore. Did you eat?” He nods, but I know that he’s lying. I sigh and hand him the rest of my radish. It’s mostly whole. Surprisingly, he takes it with no questions and no hesitation. He starts devouring it and I smile to myself. I look up and see that he’s smiling back at me.

“What are you smilin’ at?” he asks me.

“You,” I reply, feeling myself blush.

“Me? What for?”

“I don’t know. I just like knowing that you’re getting taken care of. You know, Dwight, you should start taking better care of yourself. I shouldn’t have to give up my food so you can eat, not that I mind it. I want you to start looking after yourself and not everyone else.”

“What does it matter?” I frown.

“I care about you, Dwight. I hate to see you do this to yourself.”

“I ain’t doing nothin’ to myself,” he tells me, basically shrugging me off. I roll my eyes and go to eat my apple. I realize that I’m not even that hungry anymore.

“Here. I’ve lost my appetite,” I say, handing the apple over. He starts devouring the fruit just like he did the radish. “How often do you eat?” I think I may have an idea of what his answer is.

“Every other day, or sometimes just once a day,” he replies as if it’s no big deal.

“Dwight! That’s not okay! You need to start eating. I’ll force you if I have to.” He raises an eyebrow at me and finishes the apple.

“Are you done complaining about my life style?” he asks, gathering up the trash and dishes.

“Compl--Dwight, not caring about yourself and not eating is  _ not _ a life style, it’s suicide!” I exclaim.

“Whatever, (Y/N). I’m gonna head out. I’ll see you later.” He picks up his stuff and goes to leave. I throw my hands up in exasperation. 

“Dwight, all I ask is that you start thinking more about yourself, taking care of yourself,” I tell him softly. He turns and looks at me over his shoulder, his good side facing me.

“(Y/N/N)” he starts.

“No, don’t “(Y/N/N)” me. I need you to promise me that you’ll look after yourself.” He’s quiet for a while, just staring at me.

“I promise,” he says.


End file.
